"When Play Turned to Pain"

This is a story from a long time ago—one that I still remember vividly, like a scar etched into memory. I was just 14 years old, returning home from my tuition class one late afternoon. The sun was still up, the streets were buzzing with life, and my bag felt a little heavier than usual. As I made my way down the familiar lane toward home, I ran into a few of my friends.

“Come to the factory when you’re done!” one of them called out cheerfully.

Back then, it was almost a tradition for us. Every day after school or tuition, we’d gather at an old, abandoned factory near our neighborhood. It had become our unofficial playground—a place full of broken machinery, echoing walls, and space to run around. It wasn’t the safest place, but it was ours.

After reaching home and quickly dropping my bag, I grabbed a snack and rushed out. Within minutes, I was at the factory. My friends were already there, scattered across the open yard. Some were climbing rusted pipes, others laughing near the entrance. Everything seemed normal—until I noticed a dog near the gate.

It was a large, muscular dog—tied to a heavy stick by its owner. The man was struggling to keep it calm. The dog looked strong, alert, and restless. I slowed down as I passed, uneasy but not alarmed.

Then, suddenly, it happened.

One of the boys—one known for his mischief—picked up a small stone and, without warning, hurled it toward the dog. It hit the dog square on the back. The animal let out a loud, sharp bark and began thrashing wildly. In its panic, the rope twisted around its owner’s feet. The man lost balance and fell hard to the ground.

Anger flared in his eyes. Frustrated and embarrassed, he made a terrible decision—he let go of the rope.

And just like that, the dog was free.

The dog charged straight toward the group. Chaos exploded. Kids screamed and scattered in all directions. Some climbed onto machinery, others hid behind walls. I turned and bolted toward the gate, my heart pounding like a drum inside my chest. I thought I had made it. I thought I was safe.

But I was wrong.

Just as I reached the exit, something yanked me back. I stumbled and fell to the ground, confused for a split second—until I felt it. The dog’s teeth had sunk into my leg.

Pain surged through me like lightning. I cried out, tried to shake it off, and instinctively punched the dog in the nose. It released me, just for a moment. I scrambled to my feet and ran again.

But it wasn’t over.

The dog lunged once more and caught me again. This time, I didn’t have the strength to fight. I thought I was done for—until the owner finally reached us. He grabbed the dog and pulled it away from me, cursing under his breath.

I was in agony, my leg bleeding and shaking. One of my closest friends helped me to my feet and walked me out of the factory. I was crying by then—not just from pain, but from fear, shock, and confusion.

When I reached home, my parents were horrified. My pant leg was torn, and blood had soaked through. Without wasting a second, they rushed me to the hospital. The doctor took one look and said I needed urgent treatment.

The diagnosis was serious: I needed 12 anti-rabies injections—two every day for nearly a week. I was terrified. At that age, the thought of even one injection was unbearable, let alone twelve.

The next few days were painful—physically and emotionally. My leg was swollen, sore, and covered in bandages. Every morning, I’d visit the doctor with my parents, get the injections, and return home to rest. Slowly, my wound began to heal. By the end of the month, I was back to walking properly.

But just when I thought the chapter was closed, something unexpected happened.

The same boy who had thrown the stone at the dog—the one who started it all—was bitten too. Weeks later, the dog got loose again. This time, it didn’t spare the real culprit. The bite was much worse than mine. A piece of his leg was torn off, and he had to stay home for a long time to recover. Justice, it seemed, had come full circle.

Moral:

Evil always comes back to you.
What you throw into the world—be it kindness or cruelty—has a strange way of returning to you. That day, I learned more than just how to survive a dog bite. I learned how someone else's bad decision can leave a lasting wound on someone innocent—and how karma never forgets.